Blame Their Parents
by vieralynn
Summary: Vayne took hold of Ashe’s finger tips but never kissed her hand. Penelo never gasped. Balthier’s eyes narrowed. Fran never stifled her desire to laugh. Alternate ending to FFXII. Pairings way too numerous to count - read and find out!


_This story came out of a conversation with logistika_nyx. It is an alternate ending to FFXII and was supposed to be crackish but became ... believably serious in an odd metafictional way. It was originally inspired by a challenge to write Vayne/Ashe as an LTR variant of Seymour/Yuna (= nightmare fuel).  
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_*WARNING, WARNING, READER: WARNING*_

_Because of that, this story is METAFICTION -- story about story -- rather than logical extension to canon.__ Blame Their Parents is planned as a three-chapter short story. Since I have other stories that I really *must* update, I might be slow to finish this one but if enough people are amused by it, I'll try to hurry out those next two chapters a little faster? Anyhow, enjoy! ^^_

_(reviews are always welcomed)  
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**Blame Their Parents**

Those who witnessed the events on the Bahamut would later say, privately, in hushed voice, that Emperor Vayne Solidor had already crossed beyond the comfortable bounds of sanity before he welcomed Ashelia onto his sky fortress.

Empress Ashe disagrees. On that afternoon she found the answer that had eluded her since the day of Rasler's funeral. Vayne was perfectly sane. He stood before her on Bahamut's bridge and, as Ashe listened to the timbre of his voice, she heard the pain of truth: lucidity compressed to diamond hardness. In that moment, she knew how she must forge Dalmasca's future. She was ready. Years later, she questioned why this realization had taken her so long.

The fire of humekind's anger burned in Vayne's eyes. Centuries of thwarted ambition coiled in his muscles. This was not a man before her, but all of history back to the year Raithwall was born. She was not an angel of vengeance or a saint of salvation. The Occuria were wrong.

"I am only myself," she said. "And I want to be free."

The next words she spoke pressed on her chest with the weight of every block of stone in Rabanastre's royal palace yet, once she finished speaking, she freely breathed.

"The lineage of the Dynast King is no more. Dynastic rule is over. Seven hundred years ago, the Occuria came as gods to the people of the desert. They lifted man out of chaos and sheltered him behind walls, but those walls have become our prison. We must now make our own history, outside of the Occuria's confines. We must learn to be free. That is all I want: freedom. And your people, my people, they want this too. They want to be free."

"A woman such as you claims she knows her people and my people?"

"I have seen them. I have spoken with them. They care not for the longevity of Dynastic rule. They only care about their families and their livelihood. Raithwall's pact with the Occuria created a structure that has outlived its purpose. Now it is time for Dynastic walls to fall. The people only want freedom to create their own history while guided by leaders who care for peace. And that is what I want. I know it is what you want too."

"Perhaps, after all, you are fit to bear the burden of Dalmascan rule. Yet, your people insist on war. Do they use their freedom to extract vengeance? Is that what you want them to do — use your freedom to seek revenge?"

Ashe hesitated before she replied, first speaking words she had learned from Vaan, followed by words that had belonged to Basch. As she spoke, she took ownership of these words and the words became hers from then on.

"No, revenge is useless. It is true that they suffer from lingering anguish, but they only strike back because they do not know what else they can do. They falsely believe their peace of mind will come through vengeance. It will not. They are children in need of guidance. If I tell them to stop, they will."

"Our Lady of Dalmasca proposes to end this?"

"I do. Dalmasca's mistakes are my burden to carry and it is my duty to give them hope. This war must end. Our fighting is futile."

"Well, it seems that Dalmasca has found its ruler." Vayne was clearly pleased with her words. He spread his arms wide in a gesture of welcome.

Yet, it was not Vayne who stepped forward, but his younger brother. "My Lady Ashe, does this mean you have reconsidered Archadia's proposal to Dalmasca? You agree to join hands in peace, marrying your land with ours?"

Larsa reached to touch Ashelia, but his gloved hand, too large for his child-sized body, merely graced the edge of Ashe's finger tips. She stepped forward and glided past him, eyes fixed on Vayne.

"I do," she replied. "I accept your proposal."

Ashe walked across the bridge to stand beside Vayne. Larsa turned, mouth agape with incredulity.

Vayne spoke his historic pronouncement: "All of you in our audience have witnessed this momentous event in Ivalice's history. Put down your arms. The insurgence no longer has purpose. House Solidor welcomes Ashelia B'nargin of Dalmaca and she joins us freely."

Ashe thought she should cry, but she did not shed a tear.

Vayne took hold of Ashe's finger tips but never kissed her hand. Penelo never gasped. Balthier's eyes narrowed. Fran never stifled her desire to laugh. Indeed, Fran's face was as expressionless as stone. Meanwhile, on the elevator, an old wound ruptured with rage.

"Wait! Gabranth! Stop!"

Basch blocked his brother's offensive rush, held him long enough to slow Gabranth's forward momentum, but failed to still his brother's angry tongue.

"The Solidors destroyed my homeland! Even now, Landis is no more than waste and wilderness. How dare you speak of peace after what you have done? You have no right to speak of peace. You, your family, you are war criminals who must be brought to justice!"

Gabranth hooked his sword around Basch's, pressed forward, and shoved his brother to the floor. He raised his blade at Vayne but before he could strike, before Vayne could condense mist-might in his hand, Ashe stepped forward, summoned her strength, and raised her heavy blade to block Gabranth's blow.

"Stop it!"

"Huh?" Gabranth hesitated.

"Stop! Just stop!" Ashe pushed Gabranth back, taking advantage of his momentary uncertainty.

He stumbled beyond the reach of her sword, flailing his arms as he shouted. "Stop? Vayne's army threatens your city! At this moment, hundreds of Remora hover over your streets. Atomos-class carriers disgorge their troops in your deserts. Are you so weak that you will give him free rein to rape your country?"

"Gabranth, the past must be put behind us. This is what I must do and so must you."

"And what of the dead? What of all the people we have lost? Do you not miss them? Do their voices not cry out your name in the middle of the night?"

"It doesn't matter if they do. This war is over. Put down your swords." Ashe lowered hers, believing that the magister would follow her example.

"You're a whore!" Gabranth roared. The judge's blades clattered to the floor. "You are a damned whore and nothing else. Damn you—damn both of you to hell!"

"Well then." Vayne's reply was as calm as winter ice. "It seems this judge magister wishes to resign from the Magistrate. I accept his resignation, forthwith. And I am certain Ashelia and I will find a suitable replacement."

"What?"

"Guards. Escort this man off the bridge."

A group of guards approached, swords drawn, closing in quickly, but Gabranth turned and stalked off the bridge, stomping away like an overgrown child. In that moment, Gabranth never realized how much Larsa meant to him. He failed to remember all of the times that the emperor's youngest son asked for Gabranth's guidance rather than that of the other judges.

The edges of Penelo's consciousness glimmered with recognition as she watched Gabranth clomp across the elevator and mash buttons on its console. With shoulders hunched and shaking, he cursed the elevator to eternal damnation after it failed to respond to irate commands. Gabranth sunk to the floor, helm still upon his head, face of his visor pressed into metal pads shielding his knees. Penelo suspected his eyes burned with tears.

Through all of this, Penelo had clung to Basch's elbow, but after Ashe declared her surrender, Vaan inched closer to his childhood friend.

"Uh, Basch?" Penelo asked. "Do you think someone should help your brother?"

Rather than reply, Basch looked over her head, at his brother.

"Perhaps… perhaps I should check on him?" she suggested. "It's understandable that he's upset, just like the kids in Rabanastre who lost their parents."

Basch looked down a Penelo without lowering his chin. "His name is Noah."

Penelo ran to Basch's brother and stooped down beside him, hand upon his arm, and waited while remaining silent. She thought it enough to let him know he was not alone.

A few minutes later, Vaan, Balthier, and Fran boarded the elevator.

"Vayne has assured the Strahl safe passage as long as we fly directly to Rabanastre's aerodome," Balthier said.

Fifteen minutes later, the Strahl disengaged from the dock, guided by Balthier's steady hand. Vaan sat behind him, knowing he missed his chance to fly the ship. Fran monitored the flight stones, Ashe's empty seat was cold, Noah sat in Basch's seat, never saying a word. Penelo sat in hers, behind Vaan, knowing what she would suggest once they landed.

The Strahl swooped and cut through the air above the city. Fleets of Remora lifted, returning to their carriers. Hoplites returned to their Atomos-class ships. As word spread that the war was over, Rabanastrian breathed sighs of relief. Nonetheless, it took them weeks — even months — to wash away the brick-red dust raised by the Bahamut's approach.

Penelo knew better than to request Vaan involve himself in cleaning. Instead, Noah mumbled his offer. For three weeks and two days, he scrubbed every object and surface in Migelo's shop and in the apartments above.

Neither Fran nor Balthier saw any of this. They left Rabanastre immediately after Vaan, Penelo, and Noah disembarked from their ship. Balthier wanted to put healthy distance between himself and Dalmasca. As they flew toward the southern continent, he mulled over the words that he wished to ask Fran.

Later that night, after sharing a pipe with the Garif elders, Balthier made a slurred, tongue-tied offer to his partner in crime. Despite all lack of syntactic structure, his sentiments were fully clear to Fran. That night began a new chapter in their relationship.


End file.
